“I wasn’t planning on giving him a say in the matter.”
“Knowledge,” Bentley said, “could be the greatest treasure of all.”
Jennifer kicked back, her chair leaning at a dangerous angle.
“You always say that.” She shrugged. “But you ain’t wrong. If Fleiss and Cheshire are fixin’ to cook up some kinda doomsday plot, we are gonna scrap with ’em sooner or later. I wanna know exactly what we’re up against and how to take these critters down for good. Drake might know something. Is Caitlin in?”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “She’s in. We might be able to get Pixie too, if her dance card is open.”
“And this ‘Ms. Fleiss,’” Margaux said, “Naavarasi claims she’s not at the ranch right now? So we won’t have to fight her?”
“Claims,” I said. “That said, Naavarasi lies…well, even more than we do. Even with Fleiss out of the picture, it’s not a soft target. There’s armed guards patrolling the compound twenty-four seven, a full security grid with cameras and alarm systems, and we don’t have eyes inside the main house. I’ve only been in there once, and I didn’t see anything like a safe or a vault. This job’s going to take a lot of improvisation. I figure we make Drake the priority. Once we get our hands on him, hopefully he can tell us where the dagger’s being kept and open any code-locked doors for us.”
“We better make it fast,” Jennifer said. “I’m admittedly bein’ superstitious, but have you been keeping an eye on the clock?”
I glanced at my watch. “What about it? It’s barely nine. The night’s still young.”
“The date, sugar. It’s the twenty-ninth. Halloween is two days away.”
14.
We got an early start. And an early flight, riding from McCarran to Austin-Bergstrom International. Our base camp was a penthouse suite at the Omni, a warm and tan expanse with leather upholstery and a top-floor view of the downtown skyline. We rearranged the furniture, pushing together tables and clearing floor space, then set out the Do Not Disturb card.
A heist is like a battle: sometimes victory is all in the planning and success is decided before you take one step onto the battlefield. And sometimes the plan goes straight out the window and you live or die based on how well you can think on your feet. I decided to err on the side of optimism.
Pixie was too busy to come, until we told her the job might give us a shot at the Enemy. For that, she freed her schedule up. She spread a blueprint-sized roll of photo paper out on the table. A satellite overview, showing the grounds of Eastern Pines in grainy black and white. We gathered around, cradling paper cups of strong black coffee from the lobby cafe, and studied the map.
“This is the best resolution I could pull,” Pixie said. “Current blueprints are a no-go. When Drake bought the place, it was falling apart; he paid for a massive renovation of the main house. The contractors never filed updated paperwork, and it looks like the state just kinda ‘forgot’ to do any kind of inspections or regulation.”
“What about the people who did the actual construction work?” I asked. “Somebody’s been inside that house.”
“Funny story. One week after the renovations were done, the contractor’s next job site went up in a fireball. Gas-main eruption.”
Jennifer stood on the other side of the table. She had dressed for the Texas weather, ditching her corporate look for cargo pants and a tank top that showed off her tattoo sleeve. The centerpiece, depicting Elvis as the Gautama Buddha, flexed as she tossed back a swig of black coffee.
“Lemme guess,” she said. “Everybody who built Drake’s new house bit the big one.”
Caitlin leaned in and trailed a scarlet fingernail along the blurry access road. “All we need to find, assuming we make our move after nightfall, is the room where he rests his head. I think I can convince him to be our tour guide. Getting to the main house, that’s the conundrum.”
“I can tell you what I know from the last time I was there,” I said. “This fence circles the entire property. Razor wire, and it could be electrified.”
“What about the front gate?” Corman asked.
“Looked decorative, like hickory wood, but it might just be fake veneer over a metal core. I wouldn’t try ramming it unless we absolutely have to, anyway. Opens by keypad access or remote control from the guardhouse. Speaking of.” I tapped two long rectangles on the map. “Bunkhouses. Instead of cowboys, Drake has private security. They move in two-man patrols, regular radio contact, equipped with sidearms and rifles. They work a tight grid formation. They’re good. They’ve also got the outer grounds blanketed with security cameras, but without eyes on their control room, no telling how many guards are watching the feeds or how much attention they’re paying.”
“Speaking of cowboys…” Margaux gestured at a penned-off patch of land east of the main estate. “Is that a corral?”
“Yeah. When you drop ten million bucks on a ranch in Texas, I’m pretty sure horses are mandatory.”
“Where’s the ranch legally located, when it comes to municipal stuff?” Jennifer asked. “What kinda police response time are we lookin’ at, and which town’s gonna be sending ’em?”
“None and none,” I said, “considering Drake is being held hostage and there’s zero chance the guards supposedly working for him aren’t aware of that fact. I guarantee they’re under orders not to call the cops. They’ll either shoot first and ask questions later, or hold any intruders until Fleiss comes to deal with them.”
“So don’t get caught,” she said.
“Bingo.”
“There’s a bright side,” Pixie said. “That means they’re not using a commercial security provider. This isn’t one of those alarm systems that automatically calls an outside service center when it gets tripped, then sends the cops to check things out. If we can take control of the cameras, the whole ranch goes deaf and blind.”
“Their self-imposed isolation is our opportunity,” Caitlin murmured.
“Reckon we could hit the place with two teams,” Jennifer said. “Alpha goes in and monkey-wrenches their generator plus any backups. Kill the power, kill the lights, shut it all down. Bravo hits the main house and grabs Drake and the knife. Maybe we set a few fires on the way out, give ’em something to keep the guards busy while we make our exit.”
“We need to know where that first team is going, though.” I looked to Pixie. “No way you can tell from the satellite view, huh?”
She shook her head. Her eyebrows knitted as she weighed her options. “Once dark comes, I could get a drone in there. Keep it high and quiet, scope out as much as I can through a remote camera. Of course, if the guards spot it, they’ll know they’ve got trouble coming.”
“I want to know how far their security perimeter extends beyond the fence. And if the fence is electrified or alarmed. Basically, if anything’s gonna stop us from cutting our own entrance.” I turned to Bentley and Corman. “You two in the mood to do a little acting?”
“Always,” Bentley replied. Corman gave an agreeable grunt and drank his coffee.
I stepped back from the table, taking in the gathered faces.
“Okay. We’re looking at a two-day job. Today we shop for supplies and probe their security. Tonight, Pixie gets eyes-on inside the fence. Tomorrow we firm up the plan of attack, and tomorrow night we go in.”
“On Halloween night,” Jennifer said.
“On Halloween night,” I said. “What are you worried about? We’re the scariest people in town.”
* * *
Six hours later I was west of Austin, down on my belly in pale grass, surrounded by oaks and scrub. A humid wind ruffled the back of my shirt, the fabric clinging to a patch of sweat between my shoulder blades. I peered through binoculars set to maximum zoom.
I’d found a hill just elevated enough to let me peek past the chain-link fence ringing Drake’s ranch. Gray silhouettes of security guards patrolled the grounds in a slow and mechanical rhythm, two by two, on foot or kicking up dust on golf carts.
There were the outbuildings, the bunkhouses, some kind of utility shed, the horse pasture…and the rising, grand mansion at the head of the compound, ivory white with Grecian pillars and a salmon shingled rooftop. I was too far away to get a look inside the windows, but I didn’t dare move any closer than this.
My phone, nestled in the grass to my left, buzzed softly. I took the call and put it on speaker.
“Yeah.”
“So far, so good,” Bentley said. “First we were ‘broken down’ just off the highway, where the access road begins, for nearly an hour. Then we moved up to about three hundred yards from the front gate and ‘broke down’ again. Nobody came out to investigate, and as far as we can tell, the guards haven’t even noticed. Cormie even got out and brazenly took pictures of the ranch, which you’d think would draw a bit of attention.”
“Great. Gonna go for the gold?”
“Wish us good fortune. I’ll leave the phone on.”
I watched through the binoculars as their rented car, a blue Ford Focus already caked in Texas road dust, rumbled along the outer fence line. They stopped about midway along the compound, pulling over, and Corman ambled out of the car.
“He’s walking to the fence now,” Bentley said. “Can you see us?”
“I’m watching you.”
I wished I were watching through a sniper’s scope, so I could provide some real backup. This wasn’t the dangerous part of the job—not compared to what we had planned for tomorrow night—but they were closer to the action than I wanted them to be.
Dust blossomed in the distance, a heat mirage rippling in the wake of a speeding golf cart. “You’ve got incoming.”
Bentley got out of the car as Corman stepped back from the fence. He left the door open and gave a wave to the new arrivals. The cart stopped short. Two uniforms hopped out, rifles slung over their shoulders.
“You’re trespassing,” I heard one say, his muffled voice carried over Bentley’s phone.
“So sorry about that,” Bentley said. “We’re trying to make our way to Austin and we seem to have gotten lost.”
“You,” the other guard said, nodding at Corman. “What were you doing over by the fence?”
Corman grabbed his belt, giving his pants a hike. “Had to drain the snake. Been in the car for four damn hours. That a crime?”
“Yeah, actually—” the second guard started to say. The first one waved him off and pointed up the road.
“Forget it. Look, this is private property. You can’t be here. Turn your car around, head up the road that way. Twenty minutes, you’ll hit the highway. Go east on two-ninety and follow the signs, that’ll take you to Austin.”
Bentley and Corman got back in the car. The guards stayed right on their tail, the golf cart chugging along behind them until both vehicles slipped around a hill and out of my binoculars’ sight.
“Tell me you didn’t really pee on the electric fence,” I said into the phone.
“Nope,” Corman said. “Made that mistake once, in my twenties. Once was enough. Anyway, it’s not electrified. You can tell by looking at the posts: on a regular fence, the wire’s just stapled or tied off. Electric fences have insulators. Also, no alarm feeds, at least none I could see. They’re watching outside the fence line, but if you can slip past ’em, nothing’s stopping you from cutting your way through.”
If. There were a lot of ifs in play here.
“Fair enough,” I said. “Once the golf patrol stops following you, swing around and pick me up. The others should be done with their shopping trips by now.”
15.
Austin welcomed us back with a skyline in evening bloom, city lights shimmering against a gentle orange sunset. We came back to the suite with armloads of paper bags from an Italian place up the block, ravioli and lasagna and meatballs in greasy crimped tins sealed by paper lids.
“Didn’t know what everybody wanted,” I said as I stepped through the door, “so we basically just ordered the entire menu.”
Caitlin was draped on the leather sofa, one leg up and her knee bent, remote control dangling in her hand as she watched the news.
“I could have told you what everyone wanted,” she said.
Sitting next to her, Jennifer craned her neck and stared at the bags. “Cannoli?”
“Of course I got cannoli,” I said.
We hadn’t been the only ones shopping. While Bentley, Corman, and I were out at the ranch, Pixie had turned the table into an electronics graveyard, scattering odd parts and tools and what looked like the half-dissected guts of a quadricopter drone. A tiny rotor whined as she tapped a probe against the exposed circuit board.
“Vegetarian options?” she asked.
I cleared a little space at the edge of a counter and set the bags down. “Eggplant, tomato, and mozzarella salad, and you’re welcome.”
“You remembered.”
“I remember things. Occasionally.” I looked to Mama Margaux. “How’d we do on the essentials?”
She pointed to a pile of plastic bags, tossed onto one of the leather armchairs. “Halloween masks and leather gloves, each bought from a different store in a different part of town. Think you might be a little paranoid, Danny.”
“Nah, you wouldn’t believe how many crews get tripped up on the basics. Knew this guy who pulled a five-man bank heist a few years back: perfect, got away clean, didn’t leave a trace of evidence behind. Two days later, the FBI was kicking their door in.”
“How’s that?” she asked.
I took the tins out one by one, setting out a feast. The room filled with the aroma of fresh pasta and rich, meaty sauce.
“Their planner bought five identical ski masks from a sporting-goods store two blocks from the bank. In the middle of a July heat wave. And he paid with a credit card. Amazingly, the cops do tend to notice these things.”
Jennifer pushed herself up from the couch. She scooped up a duffel bag, black and branded with a white Nike swoosh, and toted it over to me.
“Meanwhile, seeing as we couldn’t bring our artillery on the plane, I went up to North Lamar and made a new friend. Gabriel did time with one of the locals, a few years back, and he fixed us up with a sweet deal.”
She held the bag open like a kid showing off her Halloween candy haul. Except Jennifer’s flavors came in full metal jackets, hollow-points, and wadcutters. I reached in and pulled out a nine-millimeter automatic with faded walnut grips and a trace of rust on the sights. A second gun, a snub-nosed .38 revolver, had a loose, jangly feel in my hand.
“Wow, these are…unique pieces.”
“Of crap,” Jennifer said. “Don’t gotta sugarcoat it. But considering we only need ’em for one night and we’re not taking them home with us, I wasn’t looking for museum quality. We can either bury the lot out in the scrub once we’re done, or the guy says he’ll buy the whole bag back for ten percent of what I paid. Sort of like when Coke came in bottles, and you could turn ’em in for recycling and get a little change back.”
“A socially conscious gunrunner. You test-fired these, right?”
“Did I—” Jennifer gaped at me. Then she turned to Caitlin. “You hear this guy? Did I test-fire ’em? Talkin’ like I never ripped anybody off before.”
I put the revolver back in the bag and held up my open hands. “Okay, okay! Sorry I asked.”
“Besides,” she said, “I figure they’ll mostly be for show and crowd control. If we actually have to pull the trigger, something went real wrong.”
“I brought my whip,” Caitlin said offhandedly.
“You brought it with you? On the airplane?” I asked. “Like, you actually put a bullwhip in your checked luggage?”
“No, silly. It was in my carry-on bag.”
I held up a finger. “Now I understand the looks we were getting in the security line.”
With no room left at the pushed-together tables, everyone just ate where they could find space, spreading out on the chairs and sofa. I demolished a meaty hunk of lasagna, down
to the last scrap of gooey mozzarella on my greasy paper plate, and patted my stomach.
“Needed that. Pix, how’s the drone looking?”
She held it up to show me. It was an off-the-shelf model, a hobbyist’s toy, but she’d spent hours tinkering with it. Reassembled, the formerly white shell glistened with a fresh coat of matte black paint, and its bright, decorative LEDs had been scooped out.
“Ready to rock. A buddy of mine is working on his own drone project and he kicked me his design specs. I can only do so much on short notice, though. I was able to wring a little range and battery-time boost out of the stock parts, but I still have to get close to the action.”
Corman tossed me the keys to the Focus. I caught them in my open palm.
“Back to the ranch, then. Don’t wait up, everybody, we’re probably gonna be late.”
* * *
We ended up lying flat in a patch of scrub not far from where I’d been perched earlier that day. By night the Texas heat turned to shivering autumn cold, a late wind ruffling the sparse grass. Pixie opened her laptop, our side-by-side faces lit in the screen’s pale glow.
“Okay,” she said, “this should be good for about twenty-five minutes of flight time, and that has to include getting there and back again. What’s priority?”
“Security room, generators, comm trunks,” I said. “Anything we’ll have a shot at disabling. After that, if you can peep in the windows in the main house and try to find Drake’s bedroom, that’s gravy on top.”
She tapped a few keys. A window popped open, the drone’s camera going live, and the feed reflected our own faces back at us.
“Done and done. So, I gotta ask.”
“Yeah?”
The drone’s rotors whirred, whisper-soft, and it lurched off the ground as Pixie steered it.
“Jennifer,” she said.
I sighed. “Look, I know you’re big on the whole straight-edge lifestyle thing and you don’t like drugs—”
“No, that’s not it. Every time we work together she’s kinda like…around? A little closer than she needs to be? I mean, I thought she was hitting on me, but I know the two of you used to date.”
Double or Nothing (Daniel Faust Book 7) Page 10
